


The Halo Effect

by InkDomain



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Depressing, F/M, Female pronouns, Guns, Mental Health Issues, Mentioned school shooting, Murder, POV Female Character, Suicide, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-06
Updated: 2018-01-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 23:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13281945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkDomain/pseuds/InkDomain
Summary: The Halo Effect: 'A type of cognitive bias in which our overall impression of a person influences how we feel and think about his or her character.'





	The Halo Effect

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on my deviantART (OperationStabTheCake).  
> Not proof read.  
> American Horror Story belongs to Ryan Murphy and Brad Falchuk.  
> Based upon 'What Have You Done' by Within Temptation.  
> 

Buildings are an interesting creation, they hide things that you don’t want the world to see, and they can keep things away to stop them from being taken away. Buildings are made by humans in the interest of humans, but humans are flawed and tainted. Bricks, wood, cement, every little thing that goes into creating buildings can be imprinted on and casts outwards what it’s seen. Like Tate’s home, on the outside it was beautiful and breath-taking. His mother, Constance, loved to tell you about its history. Not the murders, of course, but the creation of this building was one of her favourite topics. On the inside, it hid its true nature from the outside world like Constance had ensured it to do. Like Tate, it was made to be beautiful and untouchable, but on the inside, it was damaged and in need of some care before another awful thing happened. 

Another building that was a cause of interest was school; for some it’s the best time of their lives, they get to escape from their homes and families in favour for their friends and serve their own selfish needs. For others, it’s a prison sentence to be served for a certain number of hours for five days each week. Schools cast outwards this amalgamation of emotions of its occupants, the complex interwoven experiences of good and bad can create ghosts in the shadows which latch onto the vulnerable if they’re not careful. Tate was always a troubled kid, you just had no idea that those ghosts were whispering in his ear. 

It was raining when you met the beautiful blonde with demons swimming in his dark brown eyes, his short hair sticking to his pale skin as he looked at you and through you at the same time. The both of you were at the tender age of six when you had met at the bus stop for school, being the new kid on the block you had no idea who this boy was, other than the fact that he lived in a pretty house. He scared you, you never saw him with anyone else other than his siblings, and he would just stare out of the windows like a shadow of a person- barely even there. However, as you stood next to him under your red ladybird umbrella in a heavy downpour, he looked more like a kicked puppy who was left outside without a doghouse. 

From that day onwards, you were stuck like glue, like another sibling to him. You were the first proper friend that he had ever had outside of his family, and so he was connected to you in a way that was deeper than with is sister and brother. His father had recently run out on the family, leaving Constance to care for her children on her own. You didn’t fully understand the devastation that Hugo had left behind, but you knew that Tate was suffering, and so you ended up giving him the love that his mother neglected to give. Between the two buildings that served as house and school, Tate would be reliant on you to give emotions that he needed for development. He had two choices for when you weren’t around to be his guardian angel; be at home where the neglect from his mother took a toll on his mental health, or be at school where he was treated as an outcast. 

\----

Tate hated school, all throughout the years up until the present age of 17 due to all the harassment and abusive he received thanks to his family situation and the way he dealt with other people. It was getting increasingly difficult to get Tate to go to school, and even you couldn’t get him to attend most of his classes since you weren’t in all of his classes. It became a routine; you’d go to his home, Constance would let you in and talk your ear off about some nonsense and tripe you didn’t care about, you’d pull Tate out of his room and walk with him to school. Recently, it had been harder to pull him out of his room, and you had noticed the darkness in his eyes were dimming out the life they had once contained.  
“C’mon Tate, if you walk any slower we’ll be late for class.” You urge him, your arm looped around his as you walk in stride with the taller teen. He grunts at your words, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his light blue jeans as he walks towards his jail cell.  
“What a shame.” He comments, his mood matching the dreary weather of the day as the darkening clouds continued to hide the blue sky and bright sun. You open your mouth to give him a snarky remark right back at him, but there’s a soft rumble and the heavens open. You curse under your breath, letting go of Tate’s arm as the both of you stop in your tracks on the pavement near the high school. 

You rummage in your bag for the umbrella you ensure to keep on you in case moments like this occurred, and you fumbled with the contraption designed to keep you dry in wet weather. You open the light blue umbrella, place it above your head and move to place it over Tate’s. You pause when you see him, standing there in his matured beauty as he keeps his head tilted back to allow the rain splash over his face and down his neck. Your breath catches in your throat at the sight of the handsome man in front of you, Tate had grown from that silent little boy with the bright blonde hair into a charmer of a teenage boy. He cocks his head to the side, casting his drowning brown eyes towards your bright ones as the corner of his lips twitch upwards in the ghost of a smirk. You clear your throat, bringing the umbrella over his head and his smirk softens into a gentle smile, and he continues to walk. 

As the two of you reach closer to the school, Tate starts to slow a bit more, seemingly enjoying testing how far he can push you before you leave him in the rain in favour for getting to class on time. You knew he would most likely skip his first lesson, so when you reach the front of the school he pauses and prepares himself for the hours he’d have to endure without you.  
“What do you have before lunch?” You ask, holding onto the umbrella’s handle as the rain increases in intensity, droplets bouncing off the pavement as little puddles begin to form. He flicks his hair to the side, out of his haunted eyes as he remains unreadable.  
“I’ll just meet you at your locker.” Tate tells you, giving you a small smile that he only gave to you, and you give a small nod- knowing that was code for not going to class. You collapse the umbrella and head inside, just passing through the threshold of the school’s entrance when the bell rings. You leave Tate in the pouring rain, his blonde hair sticking together in strands and sticking to his forehead. 

As usual, the day drug on for Tate. He passes the minutes by isolating himself in an area of the school he knew he wouldn’t get caught, not that he’d be missed anyways, and put on his headphones to listen to his Walkman. The comfort of Kurt Cobain flooded his ears, sending him into a lullaby that calmed him until lunch rolled around he pursued his mission of waiting for you at your locker. He knew your timetable better than you, keeping his eyes on the end of the corridor where you would be walking down to meet him. The rain hadn’t let up one bit, it continued to pelt against the windows until they slightly rattled. The tinnitus he received from the constant buzz of countless voices in the hallway irritated him, his fingers twitching in the pockets of his jeans our of anxiety as he waited for you. The twitch in his joints only settled when he heard your soothing voice, his head perking up as though he was a puppy who knew his master would be with him soon. He spots your hair through the crowd, you’re with one of your friends who are all the same in the end- mindless sheep ready to be herded towards slaughter. They left a bad taste in his mouth, they never liked him, and they constantly belittled you for being friends with him.  
“Why do you hang out with a weirdo like Tate?” He hears your friend ask, the distaste in her voice ringing in his ears as he growls to himself. The familiar anger began to rise in him like bile ready to be expelled, it left a bitter taste until he heard your response.  
“He’s not a weirdo, you just have to give him a chance.” He watches you smile with your reply and he’s able to settle, the constant doubtful voices drifting in his mind are momentarily silenced as you prove that you care about him.  
“Whatever, he’s stalking your locker.” She huffs, obviously displeased that you continue to involve yourself with Tate. She excuses herself, not wanting to get any closer to the blonde boy as the darkness in his eyes scared her. She scampers away in the opposite direction, leaving you to wave at him waiting by your locker and weave through the crowd to reach him.  
“Let’s go get some food, I’m starving.” You beam at him, taking your usual stance by looping your arm with his, and the two of you make your way through the crowded hallway in the direction of the cafeteria. His body relaxes at your touch, listening to you ramble on about your classes whilst he gloated on the jealous looks he received for even being able to talk to you, let alone have you on his arm. 

In the cafeteria, you pick up what you fancy and force Tate to at least get an apple. He had a bad habit of not eating, his health worried you and you would often nag him until he ate something. You sit with him at an empty table near the window, the rain outside was now coupled with ferocious winds that caused the trees outside to almost become uprooted. He gives you his small smile as you mention an essay you had been given to hand in next Monday, chuckling carelessly as he bit into the red apple you had forced him to get. He got lost in thought as you continued to talk about your assignment, the usual contempt he felt towards the world and all that it housed began to ebb away the longer he focused on your eyes, your smile, the way you talked, every little detail about you.  
“Hey, Tate?” He blinks owlishly when your fingers are snapping in front of his face, bringing him back to reality as you take a sip of your drink. He looks at you with a moment of confusion, desperately trying to remember the last thing you had said so he didn’t appear rude to you. “You’re spacing out again.” You tell him, giggling at his slightly sheepish expression as he tries to brush it off.  
“Huh? Sorry, I got lost in your eyes.” Tate says, his smirk stretching to reveal his pearly whites to you. The glint in his eyes, coupled with his expression and words had you a blushing mess. The rosy tint in your cheeks only served to inflate his ego, even pulling a light chuckle from him before you lightly shove him.  
“Stop being such a goofball, I’m asking you for help with my work, be serious!” You reply to him, sticking out your tongue in a childish manner as though you were kids once more. Without thinking, he nods before placing his arm around your shoulders and takes another bite of his apple.  
“Sure, come round mine and I’ll help you in any way you need.” He purrs at the thought of you in his room again, having you in the house was nice enough but his mother often got in the way. You nod in agreement, nibbling on your food with excitement at the thought of going to Tate’s. It was rare nowadays that you got to spend alone time with him, his mother was over protective of him due to his difference in appearance of his siblings. 

\----

By time school had ended, the rain hadn’t let up in the slightest. The small puddles that had started before you entered school were now growing into pools, the trees were on the verge of being ripped from the earth and you were soaked to the bone despite your umbrella. You clung to Tate as he walked you a few houses down from his own in order for you to gather your things, quickly putting together an overnight bag and writing a note for your parents to make the aware that you’d be spending the night at Tate’s. Tate took your bag and slung it on his shoulder, putting his arm around you once more to keep you slightly more shielded from the rain as you headed to his home. On the porch, you collapsed the umbrella and placed it by the door, knowing that Constance would have a fit if you got water on the wooden floors. As Tate reached for the door knob, the door swung open and Adelaide stood in the doorway with a wide smile. Her brown eyes that mirror Tate’s shine brighter when she sees you standing with her brother, and you can’t help but return the smile as you open your arms to embrace the younger girl.  
“[F/N]!” Addy exclaims, excited to see you as she allows you to embrace her. You give her a tight hug before stepping back slightly, happy to see the bubbly girl.  
“Hey Addy, it’s been a while! I love your dress.” You compliment, nodding to her blue dress with white polka dots. She beams pure sunshine as she smooths down the front of her dress, obviously pleased with your compliment as she gives you a small twirl.  
“Thank you!” She pulls a face when she sees your outfit, looking past you at the rain to let out a chortle of amusement. “You’re all wet.” You chuckle and nod, heading inside the house as she moves aside to let you inside.  
“Ah, Tate, [F/N].” You hear the southern drawl and turn to put on a fake smile, Constance emerges from the kitchen with her usual smile on her face that she had perfected to look sincere. She goes to greet you with a hug, only to stop herself when she sees your wet hair and even wetter clothes. She stops herself from grimacing, wary of damage to her wood floors. “Oh dear me, you got caught in the rain? Tate, take her to the bathroom before she catches a cold, the poor girl.” 

Tate bites back the groan and opts to tug on your sleeve, already heading towards the staircase directly in front of the front door as you stumble behind to keep up. Constance follows but stops at the bottom of the stairs, placing one hand on the banister as she peers upwards to follow you and Tate until you’re both out of sight.  
“We’re having pork for dinner, with marble cake for desert.” Constance calls after the both of you, the sound of a large dinner like that made your stomach rumble. Constance always ensured that food from the Langdon household was to the upmost degree, and always had a link back to her Virginia roots. “Don’t stuff yourselves with anything else.” She finishes, turning to her daughter to distract her out of trouble. She soon disappears from sight and you giggle as you try to catch up with Tate, family dinners in the Langdon household usually ended in a fight- either verbal or with the food.  
“Are you gonna be nice at dinner?” You ask him in a teasing manner, to which he responds with a sarcastic smile and pulls you down the hall and into his room. He places your bag on his bed as you kick off your shoes at the door, you nod to the door that leads to his en-suite and cock your eyebrow in a question.  
“Go ahead, wouldn’t want you getting sick.” He teases, imitating his mother’s voice as you roll your eyes at the poor impression. You take your time in the shower, standing in the white tub as the hot water pummelled against your skin and began to take away the stress harboured in your muscles. 

Leaving the comfort of the shower was always a tough mission, but eventually you had to turn off the flow of water and dry off with a fluffy white towel that had been freshly cleaned and put away. You dry off before poking your head around the door of the bathroom, getting a view of Tate in his natural habitat when relaxed.  
“Be a doll and toss me some clothes?” You ask, interrupting the music of Pearl Jam over Tate’s stereo. He turns to look at you, his eyes obviously trying to get a peek at your body from behind the door, but you expertly hide from him. “Clothes, please.” You remind him, making him tut to himself before rummaging in your bag. He hands you the clothes you asked, his hand brushing against yours once you accept them and he looks down at you with an expression he had never looked at you with before.  
“You know, I don’t mind if you just stay in the towel.” He jokes, but the glint in his eye tells you that it’s more than a joke. You lightly punch his shoulder, grinning at him before shutting the bathroom door and getting dressed. Whilst Tate took his own shower to recover from the cold rain, you sat on his more than comfortable bed and started on the assignment you had been given earlier in the day. 

Once Tate had finished in the bathroom, he joined you on the bed with his hair still wet and some droplets fall onto your work. It was a miracle the assignment got written after all the distractions Tate presented, but he helped you through it as he sat behind you and leaned on your back- his head on your shoulder as you write. You completed the assignment in a few hours, ready to throw it out the window as you concluded the essay. You leave the bed to put away your work before it gets accidently destroyed, knowing what Tate is like, and when you turn to go back to your spot, you see Tate laid out and taking up all of the space on the bed. His brown eyes follow your every movement, analysing you for a reaction as he laid on his side facing you, propping his head up with his hand and a lazy smirk resting on his lips. He looks at you through his lashes, the expression as though he was tempting you to do something.  
“Well that’s just not fair.” You pout, rather adorably in Tate’s view, as you motion to him taking up the whole bed. You fold your arms over your chest, not missing when his eyes lower to your breasts hidden by the shirt before going back up to your face- the smirk lost all laziness, and now teetered towards seductive.  
“Well, it is my bed.” Tate drawls out, not moving an inch as he tests you with his eyes. You stand your ground, but the way he looked at you and through you sent indirect shivers up your spine.  
“You’re the one who invited me.” You bite back, pulling a chuckle from him as he caves and starts to move out of the way. His hand pats over the space that he had just occupied, and you don’t need to be invited twice to jump at the opportunity. You lay on the covers next to him, laying on your back as you let your body relax from the essay, and you focus on the boy next to you.  
“Can I ask you something?” Tate asks, his voice barely a whisper as the devilish charm that he had previously been emitting had changed. He moved closer to you, his chest pressed to your shoulder as he brings his hand to rest on top of your stomach. His thumb draws comforting circles over your shirt, his breath tickles your neck and you have to swallow the lump in your throat to calm yourself.  
“Of course, you can ask me anything, Tate.” You tell him in a similar whisper, as though it was just the two of you and the rest of the world was a mere imagination. You turn your head to look at him, his nose inches away from yours, his lips so close yet so far away, and his eyes bore into yours as he searched your soul.  
“You might get hurt, would you mind that?” He asks, his eyes moving from yours to look over your features, lingering on your lips for a second too long before connecting with your eyes once more. Your brow furrows, knitting together in confusion at his choice of words.  
“I don’t understand.” You tell him, your breath hitching as you feel his hand slide down to your hip. He gives the skin there a small but firm squeeze, then proceeds to slip his hand under your shirt to feel the warmth of your smooth skin hiding underneath.  
“I need to do this, [F/N], but believe me- I don’t want you to get hurt in the crossfire.” He moves to linger over you, though he leaves little space between your bodies. With his hand exploring the new territory given to him under your shirt, his head dips down to bury in the safety of your neck. “I love you, but I need to do this.” His whisper has dropped in tone, laced with provocation and lust that he had never directed towards you before. You feel his soft lips press you your neck, testing the pulse point as he feels the gentle throb of your heart beat against his mouth, and he begins to kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as he continues, all of the times you had imagined this was nothing compared to the real thing. You don’t push him away, you encourage him with a small whimper and a bite to your bottom lip to stop any other sound from escaping. His kisses trail upwards towards your ear before he whispers to you.  
“I wish that I had other choices,” He kisses the shell of your ear before dragging his tongue over the spots he had kissed, taking your earlobe in between his teeth and lightly biting. “Than to harm the one I love.” 

\----

After tangling your body to Tate and giving him the one thing that you cannot take back, you spent the afterglow in his arms as his fingertips graze over your skin in a mindless exploration. You rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat as your head moved with the breathing pattern he held. Every now and then, you’d leave little kisses on his chest, but your lips were bruised and hurt from previous activities. The moment was shattered by a knock at the door, followed by Constance’s voice coming through the wood.  
“Dinner is ready!” She calls, startling you and causing your body to jerk. Tate grunts, immediately annoyed with the sound of his mother’s voice as he tiredly yawns.  
“We’re shattered, we’re sleeping, go away.” He shouts to her, you hear a distinct huff of annoyance, but it’s followed by the clicking of her heels as she walks away from the room. You smile to yourself, allow your eyes to close and succumb to slumber that beckoned you. 

When you wake naturally, your head is still on Tate’s chest and his arms are protectively around your body. You cover your mouth as you yawn, careful not to wake the peacefully sleeping boy under you. As carefully as you can, you detach from his embrace and stretch out your muscles. You turn to glare at the sun that manages to creep around Tate’s blackout curtains and hurt your eyes, you rub your eyes from the offending light and push yourself to sit up. With your bare back to Tate, you stretch your arms above your head and let the covers pool around your waist.  
“I’d love to wake up to that sight every morning.” The rough voice causes you to jerk out of your stretch, your head snapping around to see Tate observing you with tired but loving eyes, that same lazy smirk on his lips as he openly bathes in your presence. You tuck your hair behind your ear, cheeks a soft pink as you become bashful from his praise. You grab one of his shirts from the bedroom floor, slip it on then curl back into his side.  
“Tate…” You call his name, he replies with a grunt of acknowledgement but keeps his eyes closed. He keeps his arm extended across the pillows, letting your head rest on his bicep as you watch his chest rise and fall with his breathing. “What are we now?” His brow furrows, he turns his head as his unbelievably messier hair sprawls everywhere. He opens one eye at you, a questioning look directed at you. “Is this…was this just a one-time thing?” You ask, wanting more clarity on the situation as he turns his body to face you.  
“Of course not, [F/N].” Tate assures, his voice deep and rough from just waking up, but there’s a tenderness there that has only ever been heard by you and Addy. With his free hand, he brings it to your face. He gently tucks stray strands of your hair behind your ear before cupping your cheek, seriousness in his brown eyes. “If you’d let me, I’d like to be your boyfriend.” The beating of your heart increases in pace as the smile shines on your face, you turn your head to place a kiss on his palm before nodding.  
“I’d like that.” He reflects the smile, he had the capacity to show sincerity, but it was rare for him. He seals the deal with you by leaning forward, initiating a kiss that you happily accept. You allow yourself to be lost in the moment of intimacy, feeling his hands brush over your exposed skin and remembering how he maps out your body to commit to memory. 

Unsure of how much time has passed since both of you had woken, the time comes when you must separate and continue with the demands of life. You untangle from your boyfriend’s entwined limbs, lightly pushing him towards his private bathroom with a giggle and a joke about how he smells. He just chuckles in return, shaking his head and causing his blonde locks to bounce with each movement. He disappears into the bathroom, not caring to hide his body from you since you had seen plenty last night. A beat passes, and you hear the shower start and it’s your turn to get yourself presentable. Reluctantly peeling yourself from the comfort of Tate’s bed, you pull on underwear and jeans, deciding to leave Tate’s shirt on for a little while longer. Constance was sure to have breakfast ready by now, the thought of a cooked breakfast with all the trimmings made your stomach growl for attention. However, you weren’t just ready to face her yet, not after the things you had said and done with her son. Heat rises to your cheeks as your memory replays some of the highlights from your night together, and you decide to at least play one card game with him before you needed to fuel yourself with food. 

Taking your seat on the rug that lay at the foot of Tate’s bed, swiping the worn pack of cards that was fraying from age and use off of his desk. You sit with your legs crossed, settling into your space as you remove the deck of 52 cards and toss away the box they lived in. A simple game would be enough to pluck up the courage to face his mother and sister, and to gain an appetite from the excitement that filled the void in your stomach. In the back of your mind, you register the sound of the shower cutting off, and the occasional thump of Tate drying off and getting ready to join you in his room. Lost in thought as your nimble fingers shuffle the deck, you curse under your breath as a stray card comes loose from its siblings, and slides itself under the bed. You set aside the deck of cards, manoeuvring yourself so you are aligned with the end of the bed and you pull up the cover to get a look under the bed. 

With little light under the bed, you press your face to the wooden floor and outstretch your arm, making sweeping motions to locate the stray playing card. Your hand bumps an unidentified object that is most definitely not a playing card, it was heavy and cold and made your heart stop. With a steadying gulp, your fingers grasp the object and pull, curiosity getting the best of you. You sit up and watch as you pull a shotgun from under Tate’s bed, bearing it to the light of day. The moment you realised it was a firearm, your hand pulls back as though it had been burnt. You scramble backwards, mind drawing a blank as you try to rationalise why Tate had a shotgun under his bed. Your head jerks up when the sound of the bathroom door handle twists, the man himself swinging open the door and wearing a smile of an unaware caught madman.  
“Hey, you got the-” He cuts himself off, freezing to his spot in the threshold of the bathroom, his free hand holding onto the towel wrapped around his waist as his eyes linger on the exposed shotgun, then lifts them to look at you. “It’s not nice to snoop, [F/N].” Your body begins to tremble as you watch those dark eyes you had grown with and fallen in love with change to show the true monster inside, leaking with corruption that had taken over the boy you loved.  
“What the fuck, Tate?!” You shake, backing yourself as far away from the teen as you possibly could. You knew he had a certain thought process that painted the world as a hell he endured, but you had no idea he had gone to this extent. “Why is that there?!” Your back hits the cold wall, sealing you and preventing you from a further escape away from this dangerous boy.  
“You wouldn’t understand.” He dismisses you, your eyes glued to him as he walks the path to his side of the bed. He pulls back the drawer, his pale hand disappears as he rummages, then turns to you as he holds a revolver in your direction. Tears have already begun to blur your vision and spill over the edge of your eyelids, marking tracks down your cheeks as the person you love points a handgun at you.  
“Stop it, Tate, you’re scaring me!” You mournfully cry at him, your eyes engrossed on the barrel of the silver revolver that was directed towards you. He moves closer, his eyes are still dark and belonged to someone you no longer recognised. “Are you going to shoot me?” You ask, voice shaking as you hiccup and close your eyes, waiting for him to pull the trigger and end your life for discovering his dirty little secret hidden under his bed.  
“Play a game with me, [F/N].” Tate lowers his voice, standing mere inches away from you as his presence pins you to the spot; sandwiching you between his stronger body and the wall. His hand wraps around your mouth, stopping you from crying out for help as he positions the handgun between your faces. Uncontrollable tears streak down your face as you shake in his grasp, eyes trained on the gun that he held between you. “It’s called Russian Roulette.” You shake your head desperately, pleading into the palm of his hand which only muffles your words and makes them unrecognisable. “I’ll go first.” He smiles to you, but it’s twisted and demented and he’s not all together there. Petrified, you watch as Tate turns the revolver and presses the muzzle to his temple. 

The scream that tears from your throat is coupled with the distinct click of the trigger activating the hammer, your eyes immediately scanning for any injury as Tate continues to stand and breathe in front of you. He removes the revolver from against his head, unharmed as he quite literally dodges a bullet, and he withdraws the hand clamped tightly around your mouth. With your heart in your throat, Tate stands there analysing your reaction before you shove him backwards. He stumbles with the sudden movement, but stays retracted from you as you grab your bag and you run from the house. You flee from the Langdon residence, terrified and confused as Constance and Addy call out to you when you run across the foyer. You leave behind your umbrella at the front door, desperate to put as much distance between you and Tate as you could possibly make. He watches from one of the second- floor windows, his disturbed eyes tracking you as you flee from the real him without even looking back. 

\----

The light that slithered under your closed curtains of your bedroom were that of the sun, but it seemed tainted and hiding something malevolent inside. Unsure of how to handle the information you had stumbled upon in Tate’s room, you resolved to hiding in your room under a mess of covers and willed the world to go away. Your parents had grown immediately concerned, you refused to join them for meals, you barely managed to shower, and you were looking thinner and paler than what would be considered healthy for your age and build. Your mother tried her best to coax you out of your room, in return she only received you burrowing further into your nest and away from reality. Your father tried his best through anger, screaming and fighting with you only to receive no response in return. You were trapped in your own mind, your body a hollow shell that your caged soul inhabited. 

Skipping school became as natural as skipping meals, the school was concerned with your wellbeing, but they only brought you a few phone calls with fake worry. You were too caught up in your own world, your experiences and memories on a constant repeat with no hope of breaking the spiral. When your mother barged into your room one afternoon on a school day, you barely lifted your head to greet her as she rushed to your side. She threw off your covers, making you coil into yourself in a futile attempt to tuck yourself away from reality. She seemed to calm down as soon as she saw your form, her arms wrapping around your thinning body as her body racked with sobs. Her cries brought you back some sense, your eyes casting downwards to look at her as her tears wet your shirt. Some colour returned to your eyes as you realised something extremely bad had happened, and you began to push yourself into a sitting position. 

Something was wrong with Tate. A tug on your heart pulled you out of your bed and towards your window, as you push aside the curtains and squint from the assault of the sun. Your hands shake from lack of use as you force your movements, opening your window and poking your head out to look across the street and a few houses down where the Langdons resided.  
“Honey-” Your mother reaches out her hands towards you, a desperate attempt to pull you away from the scene about to unfold but she was too late. Your body becomes frigid as you hear the gun shots coming from his house, your eyes focusing on the vast amount of police and SWAT vehicles that were parked in front of Tate’s home. Once the firing stopped, all that was left was a deafening silence that even muted the sirens of the police force. A SWAT team exit the house from the front door, turning their backs on the devastation they had left from the blood they shed. 

Attending the funeral was challenging; seeing Constance and Adelaide only burdened your heart as your throat closed to stop you from giving any words of condolences. The news spread fast about what Tate had done, all the lives he took before his own was wasted tragically. His coffin was black, very fitting for him you thought. After the funeral, Constance tells you with a pain that you had never heard her let through before that you were welcome to visit the home, to take anything that you’d like to remember Tate how he was. You simply nod, thanking her for the offer, and you give Addy a heart-breaking hug goodbye. Standing on the porch of the once welcoming home filled you to the brim with anxiety, this was no longer a home, but a building masquerading as a house to live in. Immediately after your foot passes the threshold of the entrance to the house, you felt as though you were being watched. Tate liked to scare you with ghost stories about the house, telling you scary tales about murders that occurred in the household, but you never believed him. Now, however, you felt the 15 pairs of eyes belonging to the characters in Tate’s ‘stories’. 

Taking one step in front of the other, the further you went into the house the more you felt like you were trespassing. You used to consider this your second home, now it felt like a graveyard with beautiful furniture. With one hand on the wooden banister, you ascend the stairs with your sole destination at the end of the hall were Tate had lost his life. You swallow around the lump in your throat, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you cannot shake the feeling of being followed along the hall. You take a moment outside of Tate’s closed door, memories of childhood and more recent experiences flash together in a tidal wave of complexly integrated emotions that you had to fight through as you kept your hand shaking on the handle. Pushing the door open, it swings under your pressure and allows you access to the bedroom. You step inside, eyes cast to the area where Tate’s lifeless cadaver had fallen. You close your eyes and urge the hallucination away, along with the knowledge that a firearm had been hidden under the bed. 

Turning your back to the bloodshed of the room and the sense of justice his death had brought, you go to his things on his desk and have a look. His most treasured possessions were his CD’s, his favourite had its case scratched and the disk was almost unplayable from excessive usage. You were tempted to take it with you, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to listen to the music without being haunted by the owner.  
“It’s not nice to snoop, [F/N.]” The voice is crystal clear in the static air, your body flinching away from the CD you had almost picked up to pivot on the spot and confront the other person in the room. You have to blink a few times when you see him sitting there, on top his bed with his legs crossed and his hair still messy in a way that would never be tamed.  
“Tate…” You whisper his name as he smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “You’re dead.” You remind the spectre on the bed, the impossible boy with a mask that fits his face too well just nods his head.  
“Did you come to play a game of cards?” He asks, tilting his head to the side in a minuscule movement that would have been previously missed if you have not been concentrating on him. You shake your head, accepting that this isn’t real and that your mind was exhausted from the past few days. You point behind you, not taking your eyes off of the dead boy talking to you.  
“No, I…I came to get something.” You tell him, and he pouts, sticking out his bottom lip in a way that makes it biteable, if only you hadn’t witnessed his casket be lowered into the ground. With a fluid motion too accurate for a human, he stands and takes a few steps towards you. Automatically, you step back and away from him, causing him to stop his advancements when he notices how on edge you are.  
“It’s okay, [F/N], it’s me.” He tells you, opening his arms to invite you for a hug. Your body doesn’t move a centimetre, recognising the danger of this situation. If it’s a hallucination, it will pass with only deepening the scar tissue. If it’s real, this boy slaughtered 15 classmates you both shared. His eyes darken, the smile twitches, his mask slips slightly. “C’mon, one last game.” He urges, taking a different route as he goes to his hiding place. With his back to you, he could almost trick you into believing that he was someone still alive with the subtle movements like his breathing. You were positive his heart no longer beat, his pulse was no longer there, but he was still there. 

After he had retrieved what he had intended to take, he keeps it hidden behind his back as he stops in front of you. He smiles at you the way he did after he slept with you, the way he did when he told you he loved you. His eyes, however, only show you the murderer that this boy really was. He takes your hand in his, his flesh is cold, and you barely feel it there, and with his free hand he places a pistol in your hand. It’s colder than his skin, than his eyes, than his heart. There’s more weight to the handgun than you would have thought, and your eyes flick down to the pistol.  
“One more game.” Tate urges, curling your fingers around the hand grip and you hear the click of the safety. His eyes contain a spark for a bloodlust that was to be promised as soon as you accepted the gun, understanding that things would never be the same again, and you just wanted the old Tate back. “Then we can go back to how it used to be.” His voice is crisp and clear, steady and guiding as he moves your index finger over the trigger. Your eyes lock with his as sweat starts to stain the surface of your skin, your heart eerily steady as your stomach twisted like a coil of snakes.  
“You promise?” He nods as he guides your hand to press the muzzle against your temple, the memory of him doing the same action to himself when he was alive flashes before your eyes before reality returns. You close your eyes as you feel his finger over yours behind the trigger guard, and you take a final breath as he pushes your finger against the trigger. 

The shrill sounds of the sirens echo in your ears as you watch from the window as a crowd forms at the gate of the Langdon home, police cars and ambulances blocking the street as professionals go back and forth. Silent tears roll down your cheeks as you watch them carry out an occupied black body bag on a gurney down the pathway, an officer informs your parents what happened, and you have to look away as your parent’s world is shattered. Your mother tries to hold the body that was once you, but your father holds her back and she clings to him for anchor. In the room behind you, a cleaning crew has started their job with scrubbing away all traces of blood and brain matter that you had left behind. With your back to the room and your vision peering past the glass and into the world where you no longer belonged, you feel the weight of arms snake around your waist and the vision of Tate appears next to your face in the reflection of the window. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his lips press to your cheek, and you feel his glee at the thought of always having you with him as he keeps you trapped in this house with him and the rest of the dead.  
“They’ll be okay.” He whispers into your skin as the both of you watch your parents walk away from the house that claimed their child. You feel cold, inside and out, as Tate holds you in his arms.  
“You promise?”


End file.
